


to the grave.

by ledara



Category: Clare Siobhan Sims
Genre: Diya Datta Centric, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, i will pioneer this fandom’s hold on this fucking site goddamnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledara/pseuds/ledara
Summary: the affair of diya and james.
Relationships: slight Diya Datta/James Callery-Aiken, slight Salma Al Arabi/James Callery-Aiken
Kudos: 2





	to the grave.

_to the grave._

it is after the act of her falling to her knees and watching those familiar blue eyes be torn apart. blue eyes she’s known all her life. 

it is during and after, when she is getting cleaned up and james stumbles out of the door, still dazed on wobbly legs, wrapped back up in his towel, and she’s zipping up the back of her dress, that she realizes that she’s never had any feelings for him at all. 

this was an act of petty revenge. nothing more, nothing less. 

she’d suspected she’d feel pride, or vicious victory, after her successful seduction. a proof to herself that she wasn’t second best to salma or anyone else. 

instead, there is only one thing running through her mind. 

_oh,_ she thinks. _oh. i have just ruined salma and james’s marriage._

_oh._

she supposes she’ll deal with the fallout when it arrives. 

it never comes. 

they take their secret to the grave. she still visits, she still speaks with salma like nothing is wrong and feels sick afterwards, excusing herself to the bathroom to swallow down the nausea _—like she’d swallowed him down—_ and it never works. she watches their man-child grow up, and she listens to salma despair over how connor has seven girlfriends and is somehow breaking eight hearts, and salma laments that she has no idea how she raised a cheater. 

_hah._ diya thinks. _just like his father._

she then promptly stands up and goes to the bathroom and vomits up her lunch before returning to salma. 

she uses a mint, and salma suspects nothing, but diya worries nothing will ever clear the stench of guilt from her lips. 

and then she has macy. the light of her life, her daughter of blue eyes and black hair and the dark skin of the homeland diya barely remembers. diya cannot even remember the name of her girl’s father, but she is beyond grateful to his existence, for giving her this miracle of a sweet, precious angel as company in her lonely life. she dotes on macy, never feels annoyance at waking up to feed her half past 3, she lives to catch a glimpse of those baby teeth poking out behind her baby’s smiling mouth. 

and then diya dies. 

it breaks her. she screams, and cries, and begs to be let back to her daughter. whoever is in charge of the underworld doesn’t listen. she is left alone to watch as macy bounces around from foster home to foster home, hiding behind a curtain of poorly self-dyed electric blue hair (diya smiles to herself at the memory of a year and a half old macy stealing her hair dye in an attempt to eat it. then she starts to cry.), believing she is unloved and unlovable. it hurts to see macy grow into a recluse when she is beautiful, and smart, and strong, and deserves all the love in the world that diya wishes she could give her, if only she were not trapped behind the barrier between the living and the dead. 

and then salma adopts her baby. 

it is in that moment she knows that salma is a thousand times the person she will ever be. salma will give, and give, and give, and she never asks to take. 

and diya took. oh, she took. 

diya watches her baby grow up, running into salma’s arms when she has a bruised knee, or a wounded ego, or a dark cloud over her head. she watches it with a bitter sort of fond jealousy. diya recognizes it. she felt the same watching salma win james. 

"well done, salma," diya mutters to herself. "you’ve won once again. first my best friend, now my daughter. i hope you’re fucking happy," she spits. 

but she doesn’t mean it. not really. she cant. she couldn’t. not after what salma has done for her baby angel. not after how salma has treated her as a friend. 

she wonders how she’ll greet salma, when she reaches wherever the hell diya is. with open arms, with a broken smile, or with ready fists. 

she feels a burst of vindictive joy in the pit of her stomach, down next to her heart. 

diya knows salma is a better person than her. she knows it very well. she just doesn’t care anymore. 

_you may have it all salma, but i won against you once. one single victory. and i took it to the grave._

**Author's Note:**

> ( ily all ty for reading kisses for everyone uwuuwuwuuwuwuwuwuu)


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